The Fox and the Wolf
by Gentle Kiss
Summary: "Maybe you're so strong because you've had to carry around that big heart of yours all this time." Izaya/OC/Shizuo minor Mikado/Masaomi
1. White Widow

**[AN] **heyo. turns out that my rewrite of my other drrr! fanfiction has morphed into something else entirely. thus, I present to you "The Fox and the Wolf." my OOC Mizuki actually just so happens to be a lot like Okami-san from Okami-san and Her Seven Companions. that was unintentional, I watched that awesome anime (which is now one of my favs) after coming up with the concept for this story. but that's okay cause Okami-san is sexy as fuck. if you're familiar with the anime, you'll notice the similarities almost immediately. because I fucking nicknamed Mizuki Okami-san. whoops.

please don't hate me for this fanfiction. and the first person who gets the theme of the chapter titles can have my soul.

**[warning]** drug use, violence, swearing, eventual smut.

* * *

_Deep within the concrete forest of Shinjuku, Japan lurked a legendary and sly fox._

_Far into the recesses of Ikebukuro lived a solitary wolf who never howled at the moon._

_One day, the wolf ventured into the fox's territory, and the hunt began..._

* * *

**Chapter 1: White Widow**

_- Ikebukuro_

The night was rapidly waning along with her hope; a cliche notion but an accurate one nonetheless. She had known it would be difficult to find one particular person in the cluster-fuck that is Ikebukuro. Despite the district's small size, it is densely populated with all walks of life. Mizuki hasn't been to many places, so she wonders if the natives of other lands are as eccentric as the ones here.

She doesn't consider herself to be one of those 'eccentric natives.' She's just a bystander. But today she will delve into the eccentricity of this place she calls home. She's been here her whole life, knows every street and sign, but sticks to the sidewalks where it's safe. She thought that she'd avoid trouble this way, but it seems that danger often hunts down those trying to escape from it. That 's why she's going to face it head on.

"There are a few people in Ikebukuro that you don't want to mess with," her friend had warned her. She didn't really pay attention to what he had to say at the time. Kida-kun was always trying to frighten her. "Simon Brezhnev and Shizuo Heiwajima for instance. But there's one guy that you never want to come into contact with. His name is-"

"Izaya Orihara."

It was the wolf who hunted down the fox. That's how it has always been. That's nature.

After countless unreliable leads and dead ends, Mizuki has finally concluded that it is as possible to find Orihara Izaya as it is to stumble upon the fountain of youth, and that her search has been fruitless._ 'Guess I'll just have to have him come to me instead,'_ she thinks unequivocally.

Across the street from her, lit up in the darkness of the otherwise empty stretch of sidewalk, is an oasis; a soda machine. The loose change in her pocket seems to grow heavier, and she stops her languid pacing as she mulls over whether to give in to desire and quell her patched throat. Before crossing the road, she checks both ways like her mother taught her when she was little, her own small hand in the warm an familiar one of her Oka-chan as they went on their daily commute to preschool. But instead of looking for cars, she's checking for someone much more dangerous, who -if she were to go on a collision with- would cause more damage than even a hunk of metal going forty; Shizuo Heiwajima, notorious for his mistreatment of vending and soda machines such as this one.

"Shizuo..."

"Mamma, that lady's talking to herself!"

"Don't look at her, she's probably on something," a young mother murmurs to her small boy, wrapping an arm possessively around him and guiding him away, she, too, avoiding eye contact with the strange girl. By this time, traffic has conquered the streets once again, making them impassable. Mizuki watches until the two forms are swallowed by the sea of people, thinking to herself that the pair must be tourists. The natives here are used to seeing characters stranger than those who absently whisper to the wind. Mizuki is as normal as they come. If normal encompasses consorting with the devil and a rogue demon, of course.

Her decision made, and her radar void of Shizuo-kun, she steps from the haven offered by the sidewalk and onto the unpredictable asphalt; the forest floor of Shinjuku, where the creatures of metal lurk.

She forgot to check both ways this time. She hears her mother's voice ringing above the clamoring in her head as she is suddenly struck by an oncoming vehicle, but the words are strung together too loose and incoherently for her to decipher their meaning.

* * *

_- Yagiri Hospital, Ikebukuro_

Azure blue irises are exposed to blinding light as heavy lids flutter open.

"Mizuki!"

"Fa...ther?"

"Thank god!" The first coherent thought that passes through Mizuki's mind is how ironic it is that her own father- a devout atheist- was thanking a god he didn't believe in for her survival. She hoped he didn't grow weak from the thought of her impending death and turn to god out of desperation. It would be insulting to religion itself. If that were the case, he would only recognize a higher power when in need of a miracle. However, she knows that her father wouldn't stoop so low.

"I'm fine," she reassures with a weak smile, the muscles all over her body including her face sore. She loves her father, even if he's a bit overbearing sometimes. That's just how he shows his love.

She looks around at her surroundings to find herself in the stiff bed of a white hospital room. The space smells of disinfectant and bleach from when the staff last cleaned it to accommodate the new patient. It stings her nose, and she vaguely wonders why they couldn't find something more pleasant to clean the walls and floors with, or if they could have at least left it with a complimentary can of air freshener. Other than the smell which first pervaded her senses, she notices a plastic potted plant in the corner, it's drooping leaves adorned in dust, and a few chairs and tables, with a hospitalized version of a TV hanging from the ceiling. She looks beside her to see the clunky remote, which is connected to the TV by a thick wire that's currently pulled taut on its position on the bedside table. She chooses to ignore the IVs and needles strewn across the pale skin of her forearm. Needles make her queasy.

"I was so worried about you. You should know better than to walk right into the middle of the road!"

"I'm alright, really," Mizuki tries to reassure. The monitor's BPM picks up a bit at the white lie; she feels like she's been hit by a car. Oh- that's right; she was.

"Mizuki, I was so afraid," murmurs another sullen, boyish voice. She looks around her father'a shoulder who is sitting at her bedside, his large hands clasped over hers, and finds a familiar blonde boy, the only splash of color -a lavish bouquet of carnations ranging from light blue to bright yellow to pale pink- held carelessly in his arms.

"Afraid of what, Kida-kun?" Mizuki was the one who got hit by a car, not him.

"Afraid that I'd have to spend an eternity without you!" he exclaims, all but throwing himself on her bed to drag her into an uncomfortable, abrasive embrace.

"Get off of me," Mizuki wheezes into his chest as he suffocates her with his weight. He smells of flowers and perfume. She wonders whose it is.

"Kida-kun! That's too far, especially with Mizuki-san's father in the room," Mikado protests, getting up from his seat in the corner of the room to drag Kida off of her. "And she's still recovering!" Mizuki thinks it was sweet of Mikado to isolate himself to the corner of the room to give her space, albeit unnecessary.

"Oh, so are you suggesting we have some privacy?" Kida lewdly implores, pulling Mizuki even closer. Her lungs feel like collapsing.

"Shi-Shimizu-san!" Mikado stammers, seeking the only adult in the room's help.

"Please, call me Hiroshi-kun," he muses, smiling warmly. His demeanor takes a sudden, drastic turn and he flashes the boys a thumbs-up, grinning widely, his clean shaven face crinkling around the eyes. He looks young for a father, and his hair is styled in a messy, carefree manner, his dark and kind eyes framed by a pair of prescription glasses. "Any friend of Okami-kun's is a friend of mine! And I'd rather be in the same room as these kids. That way I can keep an eye on them."

"Father!" Mizuki protests, scowling as she feels a bit of warmth blossom in her cheeks in response to the familiar nickname and his harmless teasing.

_ 'He's just like Kida-kun!'_ thinks a bewildered Mikado, eyes and mouth wide open.

"Don't worry, Hiroshi-kun! I don't believe in premarital sex."

"That's not my point. I know you're going to do it eventually, and I'd just like to stress the use of co-"

"Now is not the time!" Mizuki yells, feeling lightheaded from the stress on her mind and body. This isn't any way to treat someone in convalescence, a fact that only Mikado seems to understand. Her father often means well, but he's just never been good at these sorts of things. It was always Mizuki's mother who handled the paternal matters.

"I think we should call a nurse in and leave them alone to check on her," Mikado suggests before anyone can reply to Mizuki's outburst. He then speaks to her directly. "You've woken up two times already, but you don't remember that part, do you? I think you'll be okay now, though. You seem a lot more aware and energetic," Mikado warily says, laughing uneasily as he scratches the back of his head habitually. His nails are chewed past the skin of his fingertips, so they're too dull to scratch his skin effectively. He has been biting them from stress after receiving news that Mizuki was admitted into a hospital.

"Did I break anything?" Mizuki asks anxiously, her heart hammering in her chest at the prospect of losing the use of any of her limbs. She can't even afford to waste time recovering or in physical therapy, or her undisciplined body will grow weak and she'll begin to lose what little muscle mass her small body has accumulated after months of training in the gym and boxing. It's practically her life now, but she doesn't even consider it a past time. It's not fun or enjoyable, not a good way to spend time, and she's not in it for her health. She has other, more imperative ambitions.

The hospital room disappears, leaving just Mizuki and her body, veiled by a thin white sheet in a blanket of darkness. Her fingers itch at the ends of the sheets, and if the cardiac monitor hadn't dissipated with everything else, she wouldn't be surprised if her BPM turned zero and her heart flat lined.

Her arms first; she checks those. She wiggles her fingers, flexes her arms, glancing quickly at the unimpressive muscles with a slight scowl. It seems that no matter how hard she trains, or how much she pushes herself, she'll never be able to gain significant muscle mass. It's not the strength she wants, however. It's the durability.

As she glances up to survey her legs, the hospital room comes back into focus, hazy at first, then gradually altogether.

"Mizuki?" Mikado asks anxiously, leaning closer. Their eyes are all on her now, and the room begins to spin.

She can't move her legs.

* * *

"It's such a nice day out, don't you think?"

'Nice' is such a vague term to describe the day's weather. Mizuki, although she acknowledges the beauty in the cherry blossoms, cares little about them.

Mikado pushes Mizuki along the winding courtyard walkway as she sits in a hospital issued wheelchair. They are alone here, among the blooming trees and sparrows that chirp in their branches.

"I guess," mutters a sullen Mizuki, eyes casted up at the blossoms. They are beautiful, but their beauty is fleeting. She inhales a gentle gust of wind as it passes her, capturing some of its perpetuity in her lungs. But such temporal vessels cannot hold the wayfaring winds, so she is reluctantly forced to release them in an exasperated sigh.

Her lungs are not suited to hold the winds just as her hands are not big enough to hold that which she loves most.

"You'll heal one day," Mikado says from behind her. She doesn't turn her head to look at him. Instead, she turns her head towards the sky.

"One day," she murmurs thoughtfully as he guides them to find haven in the shade of a cherry blossom tree. The effervescent light of the sun is scattered in the gaps of cherry blossoms, though not all of the light is repelled. That which does shine through the blossoms has been tainted a faint pink hue like water colored lighting.

Mikado runs out of comforting words, so he blurts out the first thought on his mind as he gazes into those oceanic eyes of hers.

"Y-you have really pretty eyes."

Though it may seem pompous, this is the kind of compliment that Mizuki is accustomed to. Nonetheless, she finally gazes up at him with a smile as faint as the scattered light.

"Would it be alright if I had some privacy?" she asks rather politely. Taken aback by her tone, Mikado nods, glancing around to see if anyone else has joined them. Unsurprisingly, they are still the only ones in this courtyard, which is precisely why Mizuki requested to be taken here. That is because this courtyard is in the psychiatric ward, and the only time anyone ever comes out is when the nurses take out the patients for a leisurely stroll.

It's disgusting how the mentally ill are treated like animals.

"Of course. Just call my cell if you need me. I'll be with your dad if you need either of us," he says, slightly reluctant to leave her alone. It's been only a few days since her accident.

Mizuki nods in understanding, and Mikado's hands slowly slip from the grasp of her wheelchair. Finally, he turns away to the glass doors that lead back inside, and with one final glance at Mizuki, her onyx hair blowing in the gentle breeze, he returns to the air conditioned hospital.

She watches a few blossoms fall from their branches and flutter towards the earth. She stares down at her own feet with a scowl. They haven't kissed the earth in days, and now she's trapped between the earth and the sky, unable to reach either of them.

"Orihara Izaya."

The wind carries away his name, and for that she is grateful. She'd rather no part of him linger for too long. Though she has never met him, there's always an unpleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach whenever he is mentioned or crosses her mind. Though she has never met him, Orihara Izaya is her enemy.

She has her reasons.

However, he is her last hope, especially now that her legs have been broken. She's going to have to consort with the enemy to protect her ally. If people represented countries, she'd be lighting the powder keg of World War III. In fact, a war very well may erupt in the streets of battle hardened Ikebukuro.

Mizuki can smell a fox.

"Shimizu Mizuki."

The girl doesn't lift her gaze from the blossoms above. She doesn't react when her wheelchair is pushed slowly and steadily along the walkway. She can see the sky now. In this moment, it is all that she sees. An endless, unattainable sky adorned with shapeless clouds.

Maybe she had known him in a previous life, because although she has never heard this voice before, she knows to whom it belongs.

"You've been sneaking around places you don't belong," says Izaya as he guides her in her metal throne along the winding cement. She can hear his cruel smile and wonders what it looks like. "What are you looking for?"

Mizuki's grip on the armrests tightens and she grinds her teeth as the 'unpleasant feeling' boils in her stomach again. If she still had the use of her legs, she'd use them to crush his skull beneath her foot for what he's done. She wonders how much damage two fiberglass casts can inflict. Definitely a lot, but she doubts she can wield them in her condition.

"You know what I'm looking for, and you know what I want," she spits out vehemently. She says this not because he is a skilled informant and knows almost everything that goes on in Ikebukuro, but because of the invisible strings connecting them and everyone else. She may have not ever met him before, and their paths might have never crossed until now, but those individual paths have another separate one cutting through both of them. Thus, like blades of grass, they have grown in the same field and share the same roots.

"Looks like Okami-san had her feet caught in a trap," Izaya notes, using the nickname her mother had coined for her many years ago. She doesn't find his familiarity as insulting as his tone, however. She feels his stare in the very broken bones of her legs. It's the first thing they have felt other than the irritating cats in several days.

Mizuki says nothing in response to this. If she utters a single word, he'll feed off of it and delay the conversation. It seems that his proverbial stomach is not yet empty for he continues without her.

"You're lucky all you got were two broken legs. Next time you might not be so fortunate," he ominously -and rather pleasantly- warns. His tone and words make her jump to conclusions. Humans like her are always so predictable. She's no different than the rest of them.

"You're not the one who made that car run me over, are you?" Mizuki inquires, her voice low and dangerous. Izaya mulls over all of her possible reactions if he were to say he was, but decides to answer honestly instead.

"That's a ridiculous assumption. It's your fault for not checking both ways before crossing the street."

Mizuki makes another predictable move by taking the bait. _'My, how vapid this one is.'_

"So you were watching me?"

"Why of course! Once I heard that a certain Shimizu Mizuki was roaming around Ikebukuro trying to find me, I just had to look into it. I thought 'surely she's not trying to hunt me down and kill me as a token of love for that protozoa!'" Mizuki stills like calm water, her eyes now casted down. "But I knew that wasn't it. No, you want my help with something, don't you?"

"What will it cost me?" she asks grimly. Izaya stops them as they reach the fountain. Water gently cascades down into the stone pool from the lips of a cherub statue, arms and wings outstretched as though it had been trying to escape into the sky before its eyes met with those of Medusa. The angel can never kiss the sky again. At least Mizuki will be able to walk the earth once again. Her legs will heal.

"Only your soul," the strange, devious man behind her replies with a chuckle. "Actually, I'll help you free of charge. Consider it charity work."

Mizuki understands Izaya well enough by now to know that that isn't the case. She also picks up on the thick sarcasm in his smooth, deceptively soothing voice. "What do you want from me?" she asks almost impassively.

"Isn't it obvious?"

A familiar, small stick riddled with carcinogens and nicotine is suddenly brushing up against Mizuki's hard pressed lips. To accept this gift of death would be to seal a deal with the devil. Her reward, she finally decides, is worth any price. In Izaya's other hand is a simple black lighter, which he sparks to light the cigarette for her as she takes it into her lips and inhales.

Finally, she turns her head to look at him, to see the face of the devil. His eyes are what she first notices. Cold, calculating, condescending, and set in stone. A steely brown with small flecks of crimson around his fathomless pupils. If she were allowed to, she'd stare into them until she withered away and turned to dust. Until she became the earth itself. Even though he was trying to pierce her with his stare, all he did was fill the girl to the brim with intrigue.

He has miscalculated her.

"Now you're going to say you want me," she responds coolly, eyes narrowing. She releases the smoke from her blackened lungs and blows it right into Izaya's smirking face. The smoke burns his eyes and naturally they begin to water. He rubs at them quickly with a vaguely disgusted expression.

"Go ahead and give yourself cancer all you want, but don't try killing me from secondhand smoke."

"Oh, so now you're dropping the whole ominous act?" Mizuki admonishes, taking another drag and flicking the ash onto the walkway with spindly, calloused fingers. Right next to the doors on both sides of the courtyard hang signs reading "Smoking Prohibited."

"Not yet," he admits with a forced but believable chuckle. She's really beginning to piss him off. "Anyways, let's skip the foreplay shall we?"

"I need you to find me someone who can make my body stronger."

Izaya's eyebrows raise until they are obscured beneath the dark curtains of his hair. "Why don't you just go hire a physical trainer? You can start working out once your legs are h-"

"No. That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean exactly?" he asks, his interest piqued as he watches the determination flicker in her eyes like blue flames.

"I need someone who's willing to put me under the knife and genetically alter me so that I'm... more durable. I don't care if they have to do some crazy X-Men shit. Whatever it takes."

Izaya's crooked grin widens even more and sharpens as he erupts into a fit of laughter, hugging his sides and doubling over. Mizuki scowls, believing that he's not taking her seriously.

"The hell is your problem?" she yells, throwing the half smoked stog at him. It bounces off his chest and seems to go unnoticed by him, his attention fixated on her completely.

"Oh, nothing," he breathes, recovering as he waves his hand dismissively. "I'm just surprised by how well things are working out."

"Wha-"

Izaya cuts the bewildered, frustrated girl off with a voice like a surgical knife. It seems that he's the one who's cutting her open, not some unlicensed, immoral doctor.

"Consider it done," he murmurs with that crooked, malevolent grin of his.

"That's it?" Mizuki's eyes widen and her already pale face loses even more color. It really is like being trapped in the stare of the devil.

"That's it," Izaya echoes. "Lucky for you, I know just the man for the job. He-"

This time it's Mizuki's voice which makes an incision in the air.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Hers are more like doors.

"Now! Take me to him now!"

"Maybe you should w-"

"Now!"

The grin is wiped from Izaya's face. He stares down at her beneath the picturesque sky, the clouds reflected in her eyes as though they're mirrors of Heaven. Izaya's cold expression doesn't get any warmer, but a smile creeps back onto his face.

"You're just like him. You don't respond very well to words or reasoning, do you?"

The clouds above darken and veil the sun. The calm is followed by the storm. Izaya wonders what he'll see in her eyes next...

"No I'm not," she mutters. The storm is brewing within her.

"You belong with each other."

"Just tell me who this man is. I'll go to him myself."

A gentle breeze blows, bringing her sweet scent to him. She smells like sunlight and wildflowers.

"You want to become strong so that you can be with Shizu-chan, don't you?"

... It is the flood.


	2. Black Velvet

**[AN] **Im sorry for taking so long to update. I'll try to be more consistent. thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and reviewed this story! I'm a review whore, so the more reviews the faster the updates. if you happen to see any mistakes, please correct me. I'm writing this on my iPod using my neighbor's wifi cuz I'm a broke a$$ bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch... i love nicki minaj and idgaf

will there be Mikado x Kida fluff in this fic? I believe so, and even Hiro-kun approves.

by the way, Shizuo and Izaya are both 21 in this fanfiction.

* * *

**Chapter 2:** Black Velvet

Kishitani Shinra, the go-to-unlicensed-doctor of Ikebukuro, opens the door of his apartment to a certain hedonistic informant with a small and extremely familiar girl clad in a hospital gown and large white casts on both of her legs hitching a ride on his back. Despite being in the arms of one of Ikebukuro's most dangerous characters, she seems to be sleeping heavily.

There's only one explanation.

"I-Is that?-" Shinra stammers, his eyes wide behind a pair of glasses as he points a shaking finger at Mizuki.

"Yup!" Izaya confirms the unfinished question rather vivaciously as he steps around the confounded Shinra and into the comfort of his and Celty's living space. "Shimizu Mizuki, Shizuo Heiwajima's one and only ex girlfriend."

With a surprisingly great deal of care, Izaya lays the sleeping girl down on the couch then cracks his back after being relieved of her weight. Mizuki herself is rather small, but the casts she wears add on to the weight that he had to shoulder all the way from the hospital to Shinra and Celty's apartment.

"Did you drug her or something?" Shinra panics, poking his head out into the hallway as he checks for any signs of an enraged, vindictive Shizuo come to save his damsel in distress from the jaws of the fiersome dragon Izaya. After confirming that the coast is clear, he slams the door shut and locks it rather hastily, including the chain and deadbolt, though he knows better than anyone that it would take a lot more than a locked door to keep Shizuo at bay. There's probably no one else in this world who has a better understanding of Shizuo's strength than the doctor himself. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Shizuo's going to find out you kidnapped her and-"

"Relax," Izaya says, putting his finger to his lips to suggest that Shinra quiets down. "I didn't drug her. Well, not really. A side affect of her pain killers is drowsiness. Though legally, I suppose I did kidnap her. She insisted that we leave the hospital she was at without consulting her father first, but I'll deal with that later." He makes himself at home in the love seat, not once taking his half lidded, calculating eyes off of Mizuki.

Shinra frowns and stares at the floor as he pushes his glasses back over the bridge of his nose.

"She doesn't know, does she?" There's no way she'd have gone with Izaya willingly if she knew of the horrors Izaya commited in the past, both to her and Shizuo.

"Even so, she still seems to harbor a little bit of hate in her heart for me. That's probably because she knows that Shizu-chan and I are bitter rivals, though it still makes me happy that I have some kind of a hold on her. When she wakes up, act like you don't even know her, alright?" Izaya requests with a pleasant smile, his eyes closed.

"What's all of this about though?" Shinra asks, crossing his arms. He's starting to feel uncomfortable in his own home.

"I'll get to that, so don't you worry," Izaya reassures, waving his head then looking around the apartment for any signs of a headless shadow clinging to the darkness that litters the apartment. "Where's Celty-san?"

At the mention of his love, Shinra's heart overflows with adoration and yearning and forgets all about this exchange. He places his hands over his chest as though it might burst from his body if he doesn't hold it down. "My dear Celty is out roaming the crime infested streets of Ikebukuro like the graceful vigilante that she is!" he beams.

Izaya smirks at the doctor, his gaze more malevolent than ever. Shinra shudders beneath his crippling stare, swallowing hard as he forces an uneasy smile onto his face, his hands still over his heart, but instead of to restrain it he is protecting it now. This might be his home, but he feels like a complete stranger in it when Izaya's occupying the place.

"What is it, Izaya-san?" he asks, though he's not quite sure if he wants to hear the answer.

The only answer he does get, however, is the devilish grin on Izaya's lips.

* * *

"The hell do you mean you don't know where she is? How do you lose someone in a wheelchair?!"

Mikado flinches as though Hiroshi's words slapped him across the face. Like a dog that's been kicked he looks down, his hands trembling and sweaty. Hiroshi can become quite fearsome when his daughter is in danger. He's seen that look of indignation only once before, and it's not an expression one can easily forget. Hiroshi's anger is hot, and it had been burned into Mikado's memory.

Regret and guilt are hotter though.

"She asked for some privacy, so I just went inside. She didn't come back, so after half an hour I went to go find her and she was just gone," Mikado recounts. "But her wheelchair was still there."

"That's impossible. She has two broken legs, she can't leave on her own. And it was a courtyard, she would have had to go back into the hospital to leave through one of the entrances, and a nurse would have seen her leave yet she wasn't even seen on any of the cameras," explains Masaomi, who is standing off to the side next to the window of Mizuki's hospital room with his arms crossed, his demeanor somber and serious.

'_Masaomi-kun is a lot like Hiroshi-san,' _Mikado thinks, the thought surfacing among all of the other more chaotic ones. This thought, to Mikado, is the eye of the storm raging within him.

The dim light of the fading day isn't as bright as Mizuki was, sitting in her bed just hours before. This hospital room is dead once again, the way it should be, the way it was before she pierced through it with her passion for life. It's hard to imagine her here.

"Then someone must have taken her," concludes Mikado, his gaze flickering to both of them.

"Who could possibly carry a girl with two broken legs over walls that high?" Hiroshi asks skeptically, taking a seat in one of the cheap leather chairs. He removes his glasses and places them on the bedside table, then puts his head in his heads. It's the posture of a despondent man who has lost all hope.

"It was him. That damn Orihara," Masaomi spits vehemently.

"Orihara Izaya?" Hiroshi asks, some of his anger quelled by bewilderment. Even Hiroshi knows who Orihara Izaya is, but what would Ikebukuro's most dangerous character want with his daughter? Needless to say, he's skeptical. It's like hearing that your little girl has been swooped up by Dracula.

Masaomi inhales what is left of Mizuki's scent to calm himself. When his grip on the air -his grip on her remaining vestiges- releases, he looks down to see that the skin over his knuckles has split in a few places. He rips his gaze from the torn flesh and starts to leave.

"Where are you going?" Mikado asks from behind Masaomi, taking a step forward as if to follow him. It would make sense if Izaya was the one who took Mizuki, what with her relationship to Shizuo and Izaya's contempt towards the only the only human he claims to harbor hatred for. He might use Mizuki to hurt Shizuo.

"I'm going to get help. The police will show up eventually, and you can tell them what happened," he mutters, his hand on the cold, metal doorknob.

"Shouldn't you stay too? You know more about Izaya than both of us do," Mikado suggests, averse to letting Masaomi slip back into Ikebukuro's underworld. He escaped the darkness once, but he might not be so lucky a second time.

A ghost of Masaomi's bright smile now haunts his cracked lips. "Nah. Ikebukuro police suck anyways." He opens the door but doesn't put more than a foot outside the room before he is stopped by a familiar hand grabbing his wrist.

"I'm coming too!" Mikado announces, his boyish face tinged a faint and flattering shade of pink. There's no fear left in him. It had given its life to resolution.

"You need to stay so that you can explain what happened," Masaomi says with wide eyes as he stares at his best friend. He's matured a lot from the ignorant kid he knew back when the world was bigger and less corrupt.

Mikado laughs with a bit of trepidation as he scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, well Ikebukuro police suck anyways."

Thankfully, some things never change.

Both teens look over at Shimizu Hiroshi, father of the missing girl in question.

"Please bring her back. She's all I have left," he pleads in a broken whisper. Anger is a flame, and once it goes out, all that hasn't been burned to ashes is the bitter truth.

Masaomi flashes a thumbs up similar to the one Hiroshi had given them a few days before. "You've got us now, Hiroshi-san! We'll find your daughter, and as a reward you can give us your blessing!"

"His wha-?"

"See ya!" Masaomi drags Mikado along with him out of the hospital room, and only then does Hiroshi notice that they continued holding each other's hand, as though the gesture came so naturally to the both of them that it went completely unnoticed.

Hiroshi smiles softly at the spot where the pair just were and says with a chuckle, "I don't think it's my blessing you're going to be needing, Kida-kun."

* * *

When the only light around comes from street lights and fluorescent signs, it's hard to tell what shadows belong to the city and what shadows are Celty herself.

Shizuo puts a few hundred yen into the street vending machine and enters the code for a pack of menthols. The machine spits out his purchase and regurgitates the small amount of change. Being the frugal man he is, he leaves not a single yen behind even if it's a measly five yen coin. Maybe he'll offer it to a god in exchange for a favor later. It'd be nice if someone did something for him for a change.

**[You really shouldn't be smoking those.] **he reads on the cellphone screen that Celty holds up, gently illuminating their quiet stretch of littered street and making her silhouette more distinguishable.

"Don't tell me what to do," Shizuo mutters, ripping the plastic off the pack and discarding it in one of the trashcans that dot the sidewalk. He retrieves a stick with his lips as he uses his other hand to pay himself down in search of a lighter. He has little patience, which is why he multitasks like this. He finds the elusive lighter in his breast pocket and promptly lights the cigarette, releasing the first pull of smoke instead of inhaling. After doing this, he treats himself to a long drag of tobacco and nicotine.

**[I hear that Shimizu-san is in the hospital.] **Celty boldly types out, though there is still a rational part of her that fears his wrath for mentioning Mizuki. She doesn't know a lot of what happened between them, but she's aware that it's a touchy subject.

"Again," he mutters, looking up at the dusty night sky. He already knew that she was admitted, had briefly debate on whether he should go visit her, but decided against it when he imagined the look of disdain that would have crept up on her face at the sight of him.

Then he saw fear in her eyes instead, and his mind was made up.

**[Have you tried talking to her about what happened?]**

"What makes you think I haven't?" Shizuo bellows, startling the only other people on this otherwise empty street. They soon recognize the pair as the Black Rider and the strongest man in Ikebukuro, but their fear of the latter outweighs their curiosity of the former, so the scatter into the closest ships and restaurants for shelter, peeking out at them through windows. This is what not to do during a Heiwajima Shizuo storm. Stay away from windows because the glass will shatter, find a safe place underground to hide. Yet what these people don't understand is that this is not the storm. It's the calm. How could Shizuo ever be truly angry when his mind is flooded with Mizuki?

Celty puts a gloved hand on her hip and tilts her head -or helmet, rather- in an inquisitive manner.

"I just haven't gotten gotten the chance, okay?" he defends, the cigarette between his bone crushing fingers long forgotten. It is, however, the only thing in his grasp, and is incidentally crushed in his vice like grip.

**[How long has it been?]** she interrogates further. Anyone else would have stopped questioning a long time ago, but Celty's a bit more intrepid that'll most. She also believes that Shizuo deserves a lot more than being met with fear. He also needs to learn how to open up.

"Three years," he mutters, finally lifting the cigarette to his lips again. The filter has been bruised to the point where he could hardly smoke it, and the paper has cracked to the point where he can't smoke it at all, making half of the cigarette dangle lifelessly, holding onto the rest of it's body by a thin fragment of paper. He tosses it to the pavement in agitation.

**[Why don't you go visit her?]**

Shizuo makes a low noise almost like a snarl and raises a brow at her. "I dunno, maybe because I haven't seen her in years and it'd be pretty weird to just show up unannounced after all this time?" he mutters in his gruff voice.

**[It'd only be weird if you keep pretending nothing went on** **between you two.]**

Shizuo is finally forced to remember her demanding existence. Mizuki is living testament to the dangers of his love, and he's fortunate enough that she's not a martyr instead. That's why Mizuki will always be the only one he has and ever will love. His hands are made to destroy, not embrace.

Maybe he should go see her. Tie up a few loose ends. He just doesn't want his final memory of her to be her in a hospital bed.

Instead, his most recent memory of her is her body, bloodied and mangled beneath the bones of a crumbling building. God, he can be such a dumb ass sometimes. Wouldn't it be better to see her convalescing than broken?

Before he can translate his thoughts, Celty's phone vibrates. She hastily reads the message then types one of her own and hits send.

"Who's that?" Shizuo asks, vaguely annoyed that someone has unknowingly interrupted them.

**[It's Shinra. He said he needs me so I've got to go. But I still think you should go see her.]**

Celty can see the conflict in his eyes behind his tinted shades which he continues to wear even when the day has already waned. He pulls out another cigarette from the pack in his pocket, but he used his hands this time to withdraw it. He brings it to his lips and with a single spark of a lighter, it's tiny flame protected by those destructive hands of his, the cigarette is lit and he's momentarily at peace again.

"What hospital?"

Celty would smile if she could, but instead the smoke in her helmet dances almost happily.

**[Yagiri Hospital. Do you need directions?]**

"You think I'm stupid?" Shizuo admonishes. Some of the familiar Shizuo is resurfacing again, and the thoughtful Shizuo who daydreams about lost love is suppressed back into the far recesses of his neglected heart. Celty's glad she got to see a glimpse of it.

**[Don't forget the flowers.]**

Shizuo takes a drag and surrenders the smoke to the young night. It's 20:34, so he should still have time.

"Nah. Flowers are for the dead. I'll get her something she can enjoy."

And even if Shizuo gets there by the time visiting hours are over, he'll just bust down the doors of the establishment.

* * *

The city becomes a coherent hour all around her. If she focuses on a single detail out of the myriad of city life, she can easily distinguish it, but chooses to fixate her shadowy gaze on what is ahead of her as she weaves her pitch black motorcycle through the darkness.

Celty blows through a red stop sign, dodging cars with ease, following the path between each vehicle like she's being carried by an ocean current. On these streets, she really does feel like she's in the sea from the way traffic flows into each other and follows it's own predetermined current. The people rise and fall periodically like tides under the pull of the moon. But it's not their numbers that rise when the moon joins them; It's their energy. They congregate it clubs and bars, take to the streets to cause chaos or just dance with it.

The dullahan wonders what kind of person Shimizu Mizuki was.

If Shizuo had fallen for her, she must have been quiet and introverted. She must have aloof and calm enough to counteract Shizuo's violent fits of anger. She must be the complete opposite of him.

Shimizu Mizuki definitely isn't the girl standing in her apartment.

"Why the fuck did you have to wake me up, you cunt?" she screams, picking up the nearest weapon -a crystal vase perched upon the coffee table- and throwing it with incredible precision at Orihara Izaya.

"Catch it!" Shinra pleads to him, his own hands reaching out as though they can somehow cross the empty distance between him and the vase as it soars through the air. Though the apartment is sparsely furnitured and decorated, the few pieces of home decor that dot every room is lavish and expensive.

Predictably, Izaya does little to save the vase, merely stepping to the side to avoid being hit. He turns his head in time to watch it shatter into countless fragments as it comes into contact with the wall.

"Th-that was 20,000 yen," Shinra whispers, his expression of shock and disbelief.

"Damn, I missed," the girl mutters to herself. She doesn't get up from her seat at the couch, a quilt draped over the lower half of her small body as she searches for more ammo.

"Don't worry Shinra-san," Izaya pleasantly reassures.

'_He'll pay for it?' _Shinra thinks, smiling expectantly.

"I'm sure there are plenty more where that came from."

Shinra bows his head in defeat. He doesn't even dare ask Mizuki to pay for the damages she caused.

Now that the commotion has ebbed away, a rush of euphoria overwhelms him, the kind of euphoria you feel in a haunted house filled with spirits of the dead combined with the sensation of the one you love being nearby, like a sonar detector. When he looks up, he sees his face reflected off of Celty's yellow cat eared helmet from across the room, and his mood immediately brightens, the shattered vase forgotten.

"Celty, my love! You've returned!" Shinra exclaims, practically vaulting himself across the room towards the dullahan. Celty steps to the side to avoid him, and he stumbles through the open door and into the apartment complex hallway. Thankfully, there are very few other tenants living in this building to complain about the constant noise.

**[Who's this?]**

Celty holds her smartphone up to Izaya, who puts his hands into the pockets of his fur lined coat, which he hasn't yet taken off despite being indoors. Celty wonders if he just gets cold easily.

Izaya's smoldering, inquisitive gaze sweeps over to the girl in question. The stare he sends in her direction looks like it could make the sun turn into a ball of ice, but it has the exact opposite effect on her. Her blue eyes are more like flames, more incandescent than frozen. When Celty thinks of blue, she imagines ice and cold, but now she is reminded that the hottest flame is the same color as her eyes.

Though she couldn't have possibly read the text on Celty's screen, she answers the question before Izaya can.

"My name is Kurenai Akira. I'm one of Izaya's clients," she says in a light voice. Everything except for her eyes and fiery personality is soft and inviting, from her intonation to her gentle features.

Izaya chuckles a bit at her alias but says nothing to disprove her. If she wants to lie about her identity then so be it. He just hopes Shinra keeps his mouth shut for her sake, but he should now that he has explained the situation to him. Shinra isn't above lying to Celty in order to insure a future with her, and Izaya believes that this little white lie will make the game much more interesting once Mizuki's web of deception unravels.

Sure enough, the doctor says nothing about her fake name when he returns from the hallway, though that might just be because of the dark glare Mizuki aims at him, and the warning stare also coming from Izaya. He shuts the door when he enters, more composed than he was when Celty firs arrived. Now, he's completely professional, and the white coat and glasses suit him better than before like he had suddenly grown into them.

"She's why I called you here, Celty," he explains, smiling at the dullahan. Mizuki notices the way he said her name, and recognizes the simple fact that he is completely in love with her.

'_Shizuo-san used to say my name like that.'_

Long, long ago, Mizuki used to say his name without the honorific, but now she doesn't even feel worthy enough to think it.

Izaya is the only one who notices the small flicker in Mizuki's flaming eyes.

**[For what?]**

"The shadows that cling to you. We believe we can use them to strengthen Mizuki's body cells and muscle tissue," Shinra explains further, using as few scientific terms as possible for everyone else to understand.

Celty looks over at Mizuki who doesn't react when Shinra reveals some of Celty's supernatural abilities. Rather than frightened or intrigued, she actually looks rather bored, staring out the window with languid eyes. Sure there have been rumors of the identity of the Black Rider, some ranging from a Grim Reaper to the devil himself, but never before has the dullahan met someone who payed no mind to the monsters that lurked around Ikebukuro.

Celty decides that it'd be best to ignore this, coming to the conclusion that Izaya and Shinra had already explained her origins. Still, one would think the girl would be at least somewhat perplexed or frightened upon meeting a creature of darkness, even if she was aware of their existence. It's one thing to know, but it is another thing to witness.

**[You mean like how I can control my shadows to become a certain durability? How are you going to use them?]** she asks, shoulders hunched. She only knows how to create weapons and other paraphernalia, and hasn't the slightest idea of how he expects to use them to alter a person's body. Besides; why does this girl, Akira, need to become so strong? If she's trying to protect herself from someone, there are other, less complicated ways to do so.

"Precisely. But this is a high risk procedure. She might not make it out alive if you make even one mistake."

What could be worth such a risk? Celty looks over at Mizuki and their gazes meet. Mizuki can see her face reflected off of the tinted visor of the dullahan's helmet, but looks beyond it, vaguely discerning the swirling darkness behind it. The two women are trying to decipher one another.

**[I'm not sure this is a good idea.]** Celty types slowly. She doesn't feel comfortable with holding someone's life in her hands, and is quite disappointed -though not surprised- that Shinra accepted Mizuki's deadly request.

"I have already warned Kurenai-san of the dangers of this procedure, but she insisted that I perform the operation regardless. If you feel uncomfortable doing this, we'll have to find another option, but this seemed like the best one."

"Please, Celty-san." Celty turns her attention back to the girl, who is now sitting straight up, her hands in her lap as she stares at the dark, silhouetted being before her as though she's making eye contact with the dullahan despite the simple fact that Celty has no eyes to look into. "This is the best way. It's not that I'm afraid of dying -I am- but I have faith that you won't let that happen," she murmurs.

This girl, who Celty has never met before, is putting her life in the hands of a harbinger of death with unwavering faith. Celty takes a few steps forward, moving towards where Mizuki still sits in the couch, and begins typing away. She holds up the screen for her to see.

**[Why do you trust me so much? We've never even met before.]**

Mizuki just shrugs her shoulders and looks to the side. "When you're at the bottom of the well and someone above dangles a rope down, you don't really care about who's on the other end. You just take it."

Celty, though still adamant about having such a responsibility over someone else's life, sighs in defeat. At least, she does her own equivalent of sighing by drooping her shoulders forward and making her chest rise and fall dramatically. If she's not the one on the other end of the rope, someone else might pick it up. Someone dangerous. Or worse, someone like Izaya.

But maybe Izaya has already severed part of the rope and is just waiting for it to snap when Mizuki is halfway up.

**[Alright. I'll try. But I can't promise anything. I also think it'd be best for me to practice a bit before doing this.]** Though she doesn't know what practicing entails yet.

Mizuki's answering smile is almost enough to make her change her mind. She truly doesn't want her to die on an operating table as darkness freezes around her body cells and crushes her heart.

"Thank you, Celty-san."

Celty doesn't reply to this. She doesn't feel like she's doing her a favor.

"Yes, we discussed that part. I already have test subjects for you to work on."

'_Test subjects...?'_

Before Celty can question Shinra on this matter, Izaya, who had been uncharacteristically silent during the entire conversation, intervenes, joining Celty and Mizuki by the couch.

"Not only will you have to train with blood and body cells, but you'll also have to learn how to mend broken bones because my 'client,'" he says with a grin towards Mizuki, "would prefer this operation take place as soon as possible. She's just too impatient to wait for broken bones to heal on their own." With a single, swift motion, like a magician unveiling his trick, Izaya pulls off the quilt draped over Mizuki's legs, revealing her affliction.

* * *

**[Review Responses]**

Leyshla Gisel: you best damn believe he's strong ass dude

Bunny: awww thanks love muffin. I'm glad you like her. c:

JustMyOpinion: I really appreciate that. I just revised that chapter and gave this one once over. Hope I didn't miss any mistakes this time.

Alwaystru: Here he is!


	3. Girl Scout Cookies

**[AN]** I'm putting up a poll in a few chapters on who you'd prefer Okami-chan to end up with. in the meantime, go read my Death Note fic. it needs love. and there will eventually be extremely smutty yaoi and yuri if it gets more reviews and follows.

fuck, the next chapter is gonna be pretty good. nf, I'm such a review slut~ the more reviews, the faster the update! I only got one review last time, so if you step up I will, ne?

* * *

**Chapter 3: **Girl Scout Cookies

It's not uncommon for people to vanish into the polluted air of Ikebukuro, so Shizuo doesn't know why he's so surprised when he overhears the conversation between Ryugamine Mikado and Mizuki's father, who he vaguely remembers meeting when she insisted he join her and her parents for dinner a long time ago. He wonders where her mother is. If he can recall correctly, she had light brown hair, was of French descent, and is where Mizuki inherited her brilliant eyes.

"They still haven't found her," are the first words Shizuo hears upon walking through the automatic glass doors and into the hospital lobby with a convenience store bag clutched in his hand. He had picked up Mizuki's third favorite snack -chocolate coated pocky- at some random convenience store on his way here, where the cute cashier wrote down her number on the receipt. He promptly crumpled up the slip of paper and tossed it in the trash then told her that she shouldn't be handing out her number to random guys.

Shizuo doubts she knew who he was. Apparently there are some corners of Ikebukuro where Shizuo's notoriety hasn't yet plagued. Either that or she just moved here. That seems much more likely.

"I doubt she's even in Ikebukuro anymore. Masaomi-kun and I both told our... Uh, friends, about a missing girl and asked them to look for her."

There's a gut feeling within Shizuo that warns him of what to expect, but he chooses to ignore it. He's used to ignoring his instincts, shoving them aside to make room for his rage. They're not talking about her. She's alright, she's sleeping in her hospital room, waiting for him, a damsel in distress in an enchanted tower. And once he's climbed to the top, he'll kiss her lips and break the spell and-

He drags his hand down his face in disgust. Love really does make people go crazy. Denial, delirium, desperation.

Mizuki is alright.

Mikado and Hiroshi don't notice Shizuo, too absorbed in their conversation to focus on anything else. Vaguely annoyed -as he usually is- he walks over to them, bag in one hand with the other stuffed into his pocket. He's already taking precautions in case his anger tips the scale that's always tilting towards to that side of him. He's making sure that his hands aren't free.

At this time, one of the secretaries notices him. Her eyes widen once she takes in the signature blonde hair and bartender's uniform, and she quickly picks up the phone at the cluttered front desk to dial security.

This tilts the scale in favor of the vindictive Shizuo, and he makes a detour to the desk. The woman pales, her small finger just above the last button. She doesn't dare press it out of fear of agitating him. Without even bothering to try to fake a smile, she stutters almost incoherently, "C-Can I help you sir?"

"There's nothing you can do for me," he mutters, reaching for the phone. She practically drops it into his hand and stares at the floor, trying to avoid eye contact, flinching as he crushes the phone like it's a potato chip and dropping the broken pieces of plastic in front of her. Normally, he's not so hard on women, especially ones that had done nothing to him, but his anger is indiscriminate at this point. And to be frank, he really just wanted an excuse to break something.

By now, Mikado and Hiroshi both notice Shizuo, and even their eyes widen like a deer in the headlights. However, neither of them feel fear, only confusion and slight awe at his strength, which he hasn't even begun to tap into. Shizuo now turns to them, joining the pair and making it a small group.

"What's up?" he asks casually, like the three of them are old friends. Hiroshi remembers briefly meeting Shizuo, and was under the impression that he was rude and dangerous, but allowed his daughter to date him because she insisted that he was a good person. Hiroshi is starting to doubt Mizuki's judge of character. Good people don't terrify secretaries and crush phones unprovoked.

Mikado, on the other hand, is better acquainted with the blonde, and his expression becomes that of numb sadness. He wonders how Shizuo will handle the news. His eyes dart to the bag in his hand, and he wonders what's in it. He wonders why he's here. Mikado didn't live in Ikebukuro when Shizuo and Mizuki were together three years ago.

"It's Mizuki."

Mizuki's alright. That's what she is.

"She okay?"

Hiroshi and Mikado exchange a knowing glance. One of them has to say it, one of them has to take it for the team. Mikado sighs and stares Shizuo in the eyes, behind his blue shades.

"We don't know."

* * *

Once you get a taste of freedom, you don't want to settle for any less. Mizuki was like any other unsatisfied high school senior. She was glad to get a break from homework and teachers and ignorant students. However, she soon found herself being freed from one cage only to be locked into a smaller one.

"Well what did you expect? It's not like Shinra-kun was going to be able to perform the operation right away. You're so spoiled, Okami-chan~" Izaya chastises, motioning for Namie to stop the flow of tea that she's pouring into his cup. Without a word she moves over to Mizuki's cup, and just as she begins to pour the tea, the girl stops her, holding up her hand. She leans forward from where she sits on the couch, holding out her hands for Namie to give her the pot.

"I'll do it, thanks," she says, though her tone of voice comes off as rather rude. Namie's icy stare flickers up to her, her body as frozen as her gaze.

"Don't worry, Mizuki. It's her job to wait on me and my guests," he reassures, motioning for Namie to continue. She returns her attention to the tea, and pours Mizuki's cup for her, much to her annoyance. She slumps back into the couch, arms crossed and scowling.

Izaya chuckles at this behavior. He's so eager to unravel her, wondering what kind of person could possibly find something within Shizuo to fall in love with when not even Izaya could not.

He wants to demolish her, brick by brick, and then build her back up again just to continue the cycle.

"What's with the sour mood, Mizu-chan?" he inquires, nudging her with his shoulder. She stares up at the high ceiling of his apartment, ignoring him. Unwilling to allow her the luxury of privacy and introversion, he presses onward. "Well?"

"Go fuck yourself."

It had taken Izaya a few days to decipher her, but he has finally realized how different Mizuki and Shizuo are. It appears that neither of them respond to words or reason, but the truth is that Mizuki is the one who doesn't respond, whereas Shizuo just doesn't understand or pay attention to them. Mizuki, on the other hand, is much more easy to manipulate because she actually answers his questions and reviews his comments, though she doesn't publicize her thoughts or feelings. She keeps everything bottled up, while Shizuo is uncapped all of the time.

"Come on, you can tell me," he murmurs, hoping to catch her eyes in his smoldering ones, but she still continues to stare at the ceiling with intensity. He wonders why she puts on such a front, pretending to be a stubborn lion when she is just a lonely wolf.

"There's nothing to tell," she mutters, sinking further into the cushions.

"How much sugar do you want?" Namie asks, growing annoyed with the two. Both of them are stubborn, not just Mizuki. She's just more defensive, while Izaya is offensive.

"A shit ton," she replies indifferently, watching as Namie pours the white crystals into her steaming cup of green tea in several spoonfuls. She doesn't bother asking if she added an adequate amount, simply picking the tray of sugar and tea and sauntering out of the room, her hips swaying gracefully with each step until she disappears around the corner.

"Now that we have some privacy will you tell me?"

"Why are you so insistent? It's not like it matters," she says, finally looking at him, eyes narrowed.

"Because I want to know you, Okami-chan~"

"Okay. I just don't like people doing certain things for me. Simple as that."

"By certain things, I'm assuming you mean favors that don't involve you and your future with Shizu-chan, correct? You seem to be fine with that," he says, leaning forward to pick up his cup of tea from the coffee table. He blows on it like a proper, sophisticated woman, sipping delicately.

"That's not a favor. We already discussed our terms, no matter how vague yours were," she mutters, staring at him through the veil of thin steam gently rising from the hot tea. It seems to enhance his image, like a demon emerging from clouds of fog, his eyes piercing through them.

"What about the matter of you living in my home?" he continues, taking another sip.

"I'm here against my will because you insisted it. I still have school you know, and worse than that my dad is definitely worrying himself sick thinking the worst has happened as you sip your tea and we chat nonchalantly about how I'm _feeling_," she spits. Her lack of mobility enrages her because she can't escape him. She really is a wolf caught in a trap and at the mercy of the hunter.

"He'll move on. He got over your mother, didn't he?"

Without a second of hesitation, Mizuki pours the scalding contents of her cup onto Izaya's lap, scorching his thighs and groin, and abruptly punches him in the face while he's distracted. He jumps up from the pain of being burned, one hand rubbing his leg and the other hovering over the spot where she hit him.

She hit him. She achieved what Shizuo could not. That in itself is more shocking than the actual fact that she hit him.

"Don't talk about my mother again or I will kill you. Slowly."

The fire in her gaze makes him believe her. It's not just some empty threat. She's completely serious. Though he doubts that she'd succeed in her vindictive crusade, he holds his hands up in surrender, smiling. He's not at all offended or annoyed with her for laying a hand on him. Actually, he's quite pleased that he got some sort of reaction out of her.

He fed the flame, it's no surprise that he got burned.

"Alright, I deserved that~ Anyways, you have nothing to worry about. I mean, do you really want to go back home anyways? Do you really want to return to a normal life without Shizu-chan? Because you can't have him and normalcy. You have to sacrifice one, so which will it be?"

The sullen, vengeful girl returns to her slouched, careless position and scrutinizes him with disdain. "Your nose is bleeding."

Izaya raises his hand to his face and sure enough there is blood on his fingertips, still warm. He can't remember the last time he was punched in the face. Had he ever even been hit before?

"Here."

When Izaya looks over at Mizuki, she's dangling a tissue in the air for him to take. He smiles charmingly, but as always there's a hidden meaning behind that grin, like the fine lines of a contract that only the most cautious or perceptive take notice of.

"How kind of you, Okami-chan," he murmurs, taking the tissue from her and dabbing at his nose with it. The blood quickly blossoms on the white material, making for a contrast almost as striking as the red stains on his porcelain fingertips and face. "First you punch me, then as a courtesy you hand me a tissue. But I think I require more thorough examination and treatment~"

"I'm not even going to ask what the connotations of that are," she mutters, rubbing her eyes.

"Tired?" Izaya asks, feigning concern as he places one hand on the couch beside her head and leans down so that he hovers over her.

"I just punched you in the face and poured tea on you. You're not angry?" she interrogates.

"I'm a bit of a masochist," he affirms, leaning closer to her and popping the bubble of space between them. Mizuki makes no move to retreat or advance, merely standing her ground. Or sit on the couch in her case. The sweet scent of green tea clings to his lips like the last fading ray of daylight, warm but weak. If he wasn't such a retched, nefarious sociopath, and if her heart still belonged to her, it would have been stuttering at this point.

"Me too," she replies dimly, testing him.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I tore you apart piece by piece if you so much as dared to threaten me ever again, correct?"

This time it is a smirk that plays on the wolf's lips. Izaya has never noticed before, but she has particularly sharp canines, pearly white teeth almost designed to tear into flesh and bone.

"I knew you'd say something like that," she murmurs, seeming rather pleased with herself. Apparently Izaya isn't the only one trying to decipher the other.

He's really going to enjoy destroying her.

_'Time to play matchmaker.'_

* * *

"You're a fast learner," Shinra praises, placing a hand on Mizuki's small shoulder to support her. It has been a few weeks since her accident, and Shinra advised her to change her fiberglass casts into a pair of walking boots so that she can get around more easily.

"I feel like a penguin with club feet," she mutters, scowling at the floor. Izaya seems to find her plight amusing, and he laughs vivaciously at her as she clunks around in her new casts.

"Shut up!" she scorns, her glare now aimed at him, where it usually is. Izaya watches on as he swings his legs back and forth from where he sits on the marble top counter of Shinra's kitchen, his hands holding onto the cold, polished edge of the stone slab. His posture is almost that of a woman, with his legs crossed and shoulders back.

"But Oka-chan, I can't help it! You're so cute when you struggle~"

"I can't tell if you're being a pervert if you're just an asshole," maunders Mizuki. She sits back down on the couch to take a rest, raising her left leg up and scrutinizing the black walking boot like it's a pair of heels that she's trying on.

"It's probably both," Shinra comments, and Izaya tilts his head in that signature smile of his that's just a bit too sweet. "I'm surprised you can lift your leg like that with such ease, Mizuki. Those casts are kind of heavy."

"Don't even think about," Izaya interjects, hopping from his perch and landing with the grace and litheness of a feline. "All you're allowed to perform on her is the operation that she requested. Besides, I highly doubt she has the same latent abilities as Shizu-chan." The girl rolls her eyes, not buying Izaya's act. His words are not out of concern. He's either worried about any damage on his 'merchandise' or he's trying to woo her by protecting her.

"If I can perform just one vivisection, maybe I can find an answer. Neither Mizuki or Shizuo have significant muscle mass, yet both display surprising feats of strength. Perhaps if Mizuki were to push herself in the same manner that Shizuo did, she'd be able to achieve the same results."

"I'm surprised you're suggesting such a thing, Shinra. I thought you'd be more interested in experimenting with Celty's shadows," notes Izaya.

"I like to approach every option."

Mizuki rises from her her seat, leaving a soft impression in the leather couch from where she was sitting.

"I don't care how you do it. I just need to become stronger," she murmurs, her words as sincere as they'll ever be. "So cut me open if you want." She runs her fingers through her long black hair, her weight resting evenly on both legs as she tries to be discreet during her struggle to maintain balance.

"See, Izaya?! She's giving me consent!"

"So sorry, but Mizu-chan and I have an appointment. It's been a while since we've had any alone time, and she gets pretty restless when I don't attend to her needs," Izaya says, taking Mizuki by the hand. She shies away incrementally, first with a sideways glance at the hardwood floors and then trying to free her hand with a gentle tug. Izaya gives no quarter, tugging her arm so that she stumbles, and he kneels down in front of her, pulling her into his waiting arms and throwing her half over his shoulder.

"We'll be going now, Shinra-kun. Tell Celty to keep up her good work. She seems to be making improvements in her training." He chuckles like he had made an inside joke that Mizuki wasn't in on, but Shinra nodded in understanding, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose as he assesses the odd pair.

"If you wish. But I still want that vivisection!" Shinra calls out behind them, his words muffled by the slam of the door as Izaya escapes the madman's lair.

For the first time in a while, the pair fall into silence as Izaya carries her through the streets of Ikebukuro and to his apartment based in Shinjuku.

Mizuki never complains of the walk, though it's not like she's the one doing any walking. Still, most girls would whine about how long the trip is, or how uncomfortable it is to be carried the whole way like this. She doesn't say a word, but this time he doesn't either.

While waiting for the pedestrian signal to illuminate green, she says the first string of words from either of them since leaving Shinra's abode.

"What did you mean by Celty training?" she inquires curiously. Izaya doesn't recall ever hearing her use such a tone before.

"Why didn't you ask Shinra-kun when we were with him?" Izaya responds, his grip on her loosing as though he's about to drop her. It would be awfully inconvenient for her to walk with him the whole way to his apartment due to the casts, so he opted to carry her instead. His intentions are also to place her care and wellbeing in his hands, which would give him power over her. He knows that she hates when he does that, yet tonight she seems oddly compliant.

"He creeps me out," she mumbles almost inaudibly, finally giving her head a break by resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"And I don't?"

"Of course you do."

"Then why is it any different?"

"I don't know."

"I think you do~"

"I'm tired," she mutters, her grumpy demeanor once again resurfacing. Izaya wonders what kind of a drunk she is.

Well, why wonder when you can find out?

"I think it's because you have a crush on me, Okami-chan~" he muses, but his accusation goes unheard. Mizuki is already asleep, dozing away blissfully. He finds it incredibly annoying when she does this. He can't be _that_ boring.

In truth, Mizuki just finds his smooth voice to be soothing, like a lullaby sung from the lips of the devil. The devil was once an angel, after all.

When they finally arrive at Izaya's apartment, he finds Celty waiting for them outside, leaning against her motorcycle and already typing a message for Izaya on her phone.

**[What are you going to do to her?]**

Izaya smiles innocently, shrugging his shoulders just enough not to wake Mizuki -though he doubts she'd even wake up, giving how much of a deep sleeper she is- but also get his point across.

"Tonight I'm going to get her drunk and take advantage of her~" he replies honesty. Of course, Celty mistakes this as a joke. Izaya is actually quite honest most of the time, but people don't believe his words because of his notoriety for deceit. Ironically, this makes it much easier for him to get away with things.

**[Seriously. You don't just help people out of the kindness of your heart.]**

The male sighs as he nudges a loose piece of gravel with his shoe. "It's not like it'll matter if I tell you anyways. You're bound by contract not to get involved in my affairs unless I ask."

**[Well you did ask me to get involved, so you owe me the truth.]**

If Izaya were to tell the truth this time, Celty would uncover Mizuki's true identity, which would in turn make things difficult for him. She can't know until the operation has been performed.

"If you're so curious then I'll give you a hint!"

Knowing that this is all she will get out if him, she submits. **[Alright. What is it?]**

"She's the mediator. She's the weakness. She's the key."

Celty finds herself more dubious and confused after leaving than when she was before she asked.

* * *

"The hell is this for?" Mizuki sloshes the sake around in the ochoko that Izaya had slid to her across the kitchen counter, staring at it as though it was poison. She knows what it is, but what has eluded her are his intentions.

"Consider it a celebratory toast," he says, raising his glass high. The contents of his glass is water, of course. He can't examine if his senses and values are blurred.

"Then why aren't you drinking?" she asks, raising a carefully groomed eyebrow at him skeptically. Maybe he did poison it if he himself refuses to partake of the sweet alcohol.

"I don't drink," he answers honestly, his hand still in the air. His arm doesn't even tremble in the slightest, as one usually does after being raised for so long.

With another wary stare at the ochoko, Mizuki rolls her eyes and downs it in one giant gulp. Izaya chuckles, abandoning his previous intention by placing his glass on the table.

"I take it that someone's been around alcohol before~" he hypothesizes, getting up from his stool at the counter where he sits opposite of her. Mizuki doesn't even bother to watch him as she helps herself to another ounce out of the tokkuri, watching with languid eyes as she fills her cup.

"The fuck is this, water?" she grumbles with disdain, but nonetheless she takes another drink. It might have been considered rude for her not to wait for Izaya to pour the sake for her, but she doesn't bother with formalities when she's with Izaya. She has nothing to prove, and has no qualms about whether he finds her impolite or distasteful. Besides; he doesn't really give a fuck.

"Would you prefer something stronger?" he inquires, opening one of the cabinets in the kitchen that just so happens to be far out of Mizuki's reach. Izaya can easily reach this treasure trove, and notices that he has caught Mizuki's attention. She's a prideful woman, so she avoids glancing over at him to see what he's doing, purposely looking away and tracing patterns in the beige walls with her eyes. Yes. He certainly has her attention. Her eyes may be fixated elsewhere, but the flames within them reach towards him, licking at his fingertips as he reaches into the cabinet.

Izaya procures one of the many packs of cigarettes that he has stashed for when he wants to bribe or torturously tempt her. Mizuki busies herself by taking a sip from her ochoko, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, don't act so coy, Mizu-chan. I know you want a smoke~" Izaya absolutely abhors cigarettes, and he only allows Mizuki to smoke so that he can have leverage over her addiction. He usually prefers to watch other humans from the shadows of their minds, but for some reason he'd rather take a more direct approach with Mizuki.

Eventually he'll make her quit, but for now he'll enjoy dangling the carrot over her head, even if the cost is a clean smelling apartment. Mizuki really does have some nasty habits that make her undesirable. There's nothing pretty about cigarettes, and there's nothing pretty about Mizuki.

"I'm not acting coy," she rebukes haughtily, holding up her ochoko for him to pour her some more, informalities damned. This is the bait, a nearly indistinct ruse to draw him closer so that she doesn't have to ask him to bring the pack of cigarettes over to her.

"Yes you are. You're holding your glass up as bait," he accuses, yet still saunters over to her obligingly.

Rather than make another remark, she rests her chin on the palm of her small hand, still holding up her cup with the other. Izaya picks up the tokkuri and pours the ochoko to the brim, the translucent contents just barely contained in the shallow cup.

"I'll give you one if you answer my earlier question," he offers, waggling the pack in the air to taunt her like a piece of meat to a wolf.

"What question?"

"Why are you more afraid of Shinra than me?"

Mizuki stares with half lidded eyes at her blurred reflection in the sake. She really is so full of pride. She doesn't even have a craving for nicotine anymore, and she doesn't want to give in to his will by caving in. However, for some strange reason she wants to answer him honestly. She wants that. The normality, the simplicity of human relations. She craves that.

"Because he's a lot like me."

This answer surprises him. The smile is wiped from his face, leaving a clean slate. Izaya doesn't know what he expected her to say, doesn't know what he _wanted_ her to say. Shouldn't she have proclaimed her love or affection to him, or were her feelings for Shizuo too vibrant for him to pale?

Sincerity. Mizuki can be excruciatingly sincere at times.

"How so? Are you afraid of yourself then?" he inquires, curious.

"Of course not. If I was afraid of myself, then I'd be like Shizuo. He's such a gentle person, really, afraid of his own shadow. I'm not afraid of him though, nor am I like him. But Shinra... Is like me because he'd do absolutely anything, morality damned, for the one he loves. That's a dangerous thing. I fear for my safety because of that. I'm only human, am I not allowed to fear for my life?"

This is probably the longest string of words that she has ever fabricated for him. She swallows her reflection. He pours her another drink which she downs gratefully, not even seeming to be inebriated in the slightest.

"You're quite complex, aren't you? A twisted fractal of emotions and values. I won't ostracize you for feeling that way. Actually, I share the same view. I have no desire to die, and despite my love of humanity I wouldn't lay my life down for a single individual." He sips from his glass, smiling at her over his cup.

"That sucks."

"Did you want me to say I'd lay down my life for you? Don't flatter yourself, Okami-chan."

Mizuki scoffs at his hypocrisy. "Please. Don't flatter _yourself_. I just meant that it must suck to not have a purpose like that. It must be empty and barren inside of you."

"Not quite. I still have the capacity to love."

"You don't love humanity. That's a fallacy. You're in denial."

Mizuki's stare doesn't waver beneath his cold gaze. His intentions are to freeze her, and hers are to melt him. Their passion are on equal, almost divine levels, so their gazes have reached a stalemate.

"You shouldn't make wrongful assumptions, Oka-chan. It's rude."

"You shouldn't try to get a woman drunk to take advantage of her. It's immoral."

Izaya's smirk widens and he sits himself back on the stool. "Is it working? Are you drunk enough yet?" he asks.

"Not nearly enough to deal with your shit." She finishes the sake in her ochoko, but rather than pour some more she grabs the bottle by the neck, wraps her lips around it, and tilts her head back, letting the warm liquid cascade down her throat.

Izaya's never been so disoriented and thrilled by conflicting emotions in all of his existence. He wants to squeeze the life out of her lungs with one hand and touch her heart with the other.

Izaya doesn't stop her from leaning over the counter to take the pack from his hand. Instead, he slides a lighter over to her, and she rips off the plastic wrapping on the little box, stuffing it in her pocket to discard in the trash later. She plucks a cig from the lot of them, puts it to her lips, and lights up.

"I love Shizuo... Which is why I would die for him. Love is selfless. It's not about you anymore. It's about _them_. So your idea of love is offensive to those of us who actually have the capacity for it."

_'Enjoy your addiction while it lasts.' _Once you light something up, that flame is only destined to die.


	4. Holy Ghost

**[AN] **if you are reading this, thank you for coming this far! I'm a bit tied up at the moment and can't respond to reviews, but I'll do that during the next update~ and as a treat, the twentieth reviewer will get a gift fic written by me! I'm curious to see how long it will take to reach that milestone.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Holy Ghost**

The cherry blossoms have begun their preordained descent. First they fall, then they whither, decay, until finally giving their life to something new.

A rogue petal floats back to the earth from which it's energy source was rooted. It all begins in the earth and lives in the sky, before returning to the earth once again.

Shizuo holds out his hands for the petal, and it takes residence in his warm, calloused palms. He stares at it for a few moments before tearing it in half with his fingers and letting the pieces flutter away with the wind blowing through the open bus window, to decay in a city that requires more sustenance than a single cherry blossom petal can give.

The bus is mostly occupied, which Shizuo is somewhat annoyed because of. It doesn't really matter though. Pretty soon, he'll be just another face without a name, another legend lost in the dust.

It's been a while since Shizuo left Tokyo, or even Ikebukuro for that matter. His business is here, his home is here, so what reason would he have for going anywhere else? He doesn't really care about seeing the rest of the world. He can easily just Google every landmark to get the gist of all the hype that tourists talk about. Ikebukuro itself is a tourist's oasis, but most of the landmarks here are its characters. Shizuo's one of them. Landmarks don't move from their points of interest.

Maybe that's why he's leaving for a while. He doesn't _want _to be a landmark, an indestructible tower of stone or a legendary monster that everyone wants to get a quick glance at before turning on their heels out of fear. He forgets what it's like to be a person and not a name.

And he sees her face everywhere here. He sees her eyes when he looks up at the sky, so he supposes that he'll travel to a wooded area, or somewhere that's always overcast. He sees her face in the reflection of windows so vividly that he often catches himself looking over his shoulder to see if she's there. He sees her weaving between buildings, balancing on guardrails and skipping down crosswalks, always moving. She never sat still. She was a leaf in the wind, flowing with the current, never changing but always maneuvering.

Suddenly the bus comes to a screeching halt at one of its many predestined stops. The doors open, but the bus doesn't bounce in the slightest like it usually does when someone boards. Shizuo glances around at the seats to find all of them besides his full, with some people even standing up to make more room. Normally, the seats in front, behind, and adjacent to him are unoccupied because people are too afraid to sit near him, and if there's no room other than those seats then most would rather get off the bus and wait for another one, but surprisingly ever spot is filled. Of course, no one dared sit beside him, but still.

A pair of walking casts now occupy Shizuo's vision, which is casted at the floor of the aisle. He waits a moment, wondering if the wearer will summon the courage to ask if the seat beside him was taken, but not a sound comes from their lips. He sighs. The person is handicapped and from the shape of their legs must be a woman, so he decides to take the initiative like a gentleman would. However, he's not too good at acting valiant, so his tone comes out gruff and his words harsh.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm getting up." He'll just stand until a seat is completely unoccupied, but who knows how long that will take? Probably until they're out of the city and into the country. Shizuo pats the wallet in the pocket of his slacks, hoping he has enough money to get him around. Maybe he'll just keep going until he has not a single yen left, then just push his roots back into whatever unoccupied earth he's stranded on or head home by foot.

Shizuo gets up from his seat, not even bothering to look at the face of this woman who he's offering it to, and is about to move into the aisle when a hand touches his shoulder and gently pushes him back down.

He _knows _that hand. There's no mistaking the long, calloused fingers, unpainted nails, small palm, and definitely not the glowing warmth emanating from it like the heat waves from a small camp fire. If he looks up, he'll find the source of that heat, the two blue flames held prisoner in white fields of snow.

"Shizuo."

* * *

There may as well be three passengers occupying this seat now. One is Shizuo, the other the elusive Mizuki, and the last being one of her many treasured acoustic guitars protected by a black case covered in stickers of her favorite bands and a few obscene phrases. It was her only form of luggage, though she said that she'd be staying at her destination overnight.

"It's been a while since we spoke, so don't beat yourself up about it," she explains, staring out the window and at the scenery like she's been doing ever since she boarded the highway bus. Shizuo hadn't really labeled himself as a wanderer despite not having a destination himself, but Mizuki offered him to join her on her pilgrimage, so now he actually has a place to go. It's ironic how his own pilgrimage had been to escape Mizuki's visage, yet here he was, riding right beside her, exchanging words and silence like nothing's changed.

"Still, I should have at least made an attempt to visit or talk to you after what happened," he mumbled, staring at his fists that lay on his lap. The only contact the two exchange are their arms brushing against one another, but it's all that Shizuo needs for now. He has been starving for so long that his heart has shrunk, and he fears that he can only take so much without imploding.

"I know you did it to protect me."

In the distance is Mt. Fuji, the sleeping volcano of Japan. Shizuo wonders when it will finally erupt again. When _he _will finally erupt again. It's only sleeping, not exactly extinct. It's a ticking time bomb that can explode at any moment. It's snow covered peak haunts the cerulean sky, just as Shizuo haunts Mizuki. She doesn't mind. It wouldn't matter to her if Shizuo finally erupted, spilling the ashes of his hatred and rage into her sky, veiling and corroding her like she's the ozone. It'd be a lot better than being destroyed by the careless, selfish humans of the earth. Nature brings chaos to nature. That is how it should be.

"When did it happen?" he asked, not even thinking about how sensitive a subject this was for her. Again, Mizuki doesn't mind. She likes Shizuo because of how blunt he is. He doesn't beat around the bush or go easy on her.

"Right after I got out of the hospital three years ago." Mizuki is also blunt and doesn't beat around the bush.

Shizuo swallows and follows her gaze outside. This bus, unlike the one they were on in Tokyo, is mostly unoccupied save a few denizens that dot these worn out seats.

"What happened?"

Mizuki shrugs, reading every sign that whizzes by as the bus continues down the empty stretch of highway. The landscape is beautiful, silent, with only this shallow cut inflicted by human's hands maiming it unlike the various wounds in places like Ikebukuro.

"She had cancer, but neither of them ever told me until it was too late. To be frank, it fucking sucked to have all of this weight placed on my shoulders all at once. I was given no time to adjust, no time to condition myself or grow stronger. It was like one bad thing after another. Maybe I'm just being selfish..." her voice trailed off as her thoughts became an even greater maelstrom, and she leaves his question almost unexplained.

"It isn't selfish to want to be happy."

"No, but it's selfish to complain about the problems of others."

"'The ones who have left us behind pass their burdens onto the ones who follow.'"

It's the first time in what feels like forever that their eyes meet. In Shizuo, Mizuki finds her earth, the ground she needs to dig her own roots into to keep herself from floating away. In Mizuki, Shizuo finds his sky, the heavens that he reaches for whenever he feels like abandoning himself.

"You remember," she murmurs, smiling at him with a radiance that rivals the sun at her back. She had requested to take the window seat so that she could take in all of the sights beyond the glass, and of course Shizuo fulfilled that request every time they boarded a new bus. A bit of that warmth reaches Shizuo's cheeks, and Mizuki laughs lightly as pink stains his cheeks. Of course he remembered. Mizuki's always had a silver tongue, and the ink of her words are permanently written in his mind.

"I really missed you."

He doesn't say he missed her back. He doesn't have to.

"What kind of cancer did she have? And how long did she have it for?" he asks suddenly.

"She had lung cancer. My mom smoked a lot, kind of like you and me do," she chuckles dryly. "It was only seven months after it was diagnosed before it killed her. It was just so advanced that there was nothing they could do," Mizuki recounts as though reading from a book or explaining the tribulations that happened to characters in a movie. Her tone make it sound like these events are distant from her and happened to someone else entirely. It's a common coping mechanism.

Without knowing what to say, Shizuo places his hand over Mizuki's, which she has on her lap. He really shouldn't be doing this. A part of him is afraid that she'll crumble to pieces in his touch, but she remains intact. "That's why I'm going to Kyoto. It's the anniversary of her death, and I'm going to visit her grave."

The information that Mizuki refrains from sharing is how she got the money for this trip. For the past two years, she and her father would take the Shinkansen all the way to Kyoto together, but of course that would be impossible this year now that she's practically a run away. Predictably, Izaya had already briefed himself on Mizuki's entire past, and several days before today he had approached her offering to pay for the bus fare to and from Kyoto, and a hotel for her to stay the night. At first she was wary to accept his offer, but he reassured her that she "had no choice in the matter." She didn't bother asking why he didn't pay for a ticket on the Shinkansen, which would be swifter, because the likelihood of her bumping into her father on the train. Despite the risk of running into Otou-san at the grave site, she still needs to pay her respects to Oka-san.

Maybe she wanted to see her father there, to show him that she was alright, though she's sure that Shizuo will pass on the information. He already gave her an entire lecture about how much she's making Hiroshi worry, and that she ought to come home right away. He would've called the man on his phone (he now had his number on his contacts) but Mizuki begged him not to. He agreed to not get involved as long as she calls Hiroshi on her own accord by tomorrow.

"You don't mind if I go with you?" he asks, looking down at her. She shakes her head and smiles softly, her eyes closed and her head tilted in that obnoxious way that makes Shizuo's heart ache.

"Of course not. She wouldn't have minded either."

Then, Mizuki rests the side of her head on his arm, and falls asleep within minutes.

* * *

By 16:00, the pair have reached their destination. The bus comes to one of the stops in Kyoto, and Mizuki struggles to maneuver her clunky guitar through the aisle before Shizuo relieves her of it, putting it on his shoulder far out of the way of the seats.

"I got it," he mutters, annoyed by how long it was taking her to get off the bus because of the guitar being in the way.

Mizuki smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of her head. "I can see that," she chuckles uneasily. Sensing his impatience, she walks down the aisle and gets off the bus with him following close behind.

Once off, Shizuo first rests his gaze on the mountain about northeast from them. The bus breezes by as Mizuki points up at the peak after noticing where Shizuo's gaze was.

"That's Mt. Hiei.* It's 848 meters high and is the location of the monastery Enryaku-ji,*" she briefly explains. Shizuo just nods slowly, still staring at it, trying to imagine a monastery full of monks praying and meditating in a haven surrounded by trees yet almost touching the sky. Again, Mizuki smiles sheepishly. "I know a lot about Japanese culture because of my Oka-chan. She's French, but Otou-san often said that she was Japanese at heart." She gazes up at the mountain with a warm smile in recognition of the fond memories she shared with her mother. "That's why she wanted to be buried at Kyoto, a city rich in culture."

As usual, their conversation is one sided, but Shizuo pays close attention to what she says, and that is all that matters to her.

As Shizuo follows Mizuki through the city, which she seems to be very familiar with, he notices that hardly anyone gives him more than a single glance before going on their way, and even if they do it's probably just because of his attire. No one walks around in a bartending suit in the middle of the day, so the odd looks here and there are understandable. Still, the occasional stare does aggravate him, and as usual Mizuki picks up on his unease and quickly deciphers the meaning behind it. She steps out of the flow of people, confident that Shizuo will follow her, and goes to the nearest ash tray, where she opens up her guitar case.

"You gonna play that or something?" Shizuo asks, confused as he ruffles his tousled blond hair. She shakes her head, reaching her small, skinny hand into the sound hole of her guitar, somehow fitting her hand between the strings. When she frees it, in her hand is a wad of yen notes held together by a hair tie, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter.

"Nah, this is just where I put my shit when I don't feel like carrying it. I'm not a purse-wearing kind of girl, ya know?" She takes out a five thousand yen note, stuffs the rest back into the sound hole, and begins to explain herself. "I noticed how annoyed you get when people stare at you. It's probably because of how you're dressed. Personally, you could wear an orange jumpsuit and fuzzy slippers and I wouldn't care, but if it bothers you so much I'll buy you something." She knows very well that Shizuo won't accept her favor without some persuasion, so she waits for his response as she stuffs the note into the front pocket of her torn jeans and lights up a cigarette, returning the pack and lighter to its previous hiding place and clasping the case shut.

"Whatever, they can deal with it," he grumbles, which is his way of saying he doesn't want to accept her favor. Still, he really should know by now how persistent Mizuki is.

"Just look at it this way; you're staying with me overnight at the hotel, so you might as well get some new clothes so you're not wearing the same ones two days straight," she counters, placing a hand on her hip. She holds out her stick of death to him for added measure. "Wanna deuce?"

The offer was too good to pass up. Nicotine, an indirect kiss. He hasn't felt her lips on his in so long, so he guesses he'll just have to settle for their shadows left on a half smoked cigarette. He reaches out for it, but she quickly pulls her hand away, takes a drag, and grins maniacally. "Not so fast. First you have to agree to my condition. _Let me buy you clothes."_

Anyone would be a fool to pass that up. Free clothes and an indirect kiss from Mizuki? He couldn't say no.

"Whatever," he mutters again, still holding out his hand. She hands over the cigarette, their fingers brushing one another as it passes between them.

He takes a drag and all is right. He tastes her berry flavored chap stick on the filter, the same chap stick that she's been using for years. He knows the taste well.

"You want kills?" she asks, picking up her guitar case and waiting for Shizuo to finish. He says nothing, simply smoking the butt down to the filter in one long, grateful drag. "Onward, young man! The Teramachi Shopping Arcade* awaits!" Mizuki abruptly replaces the cigarette in Shizuo's hand with her own and pulls him along, the warmth of her hand burning its memory into his skin.

* * *

"Oh, stop being so picky. I'm the one with the cash."

"But I'll look like a priss."

"Fine, try this on instead," Mizuki mutters, taking the gray tee featuring an image of Jesus riding a raptor and handing him a simple black v-neck shirt and a pair of jeans that are a bit less torn than her own. "Oh! And this, too." The final thing she hands him is a gray shirt with a drawing of a fox. Immediately Shizuo makes up his mind. He gives the v-neck back to her and takes the fox shirt.

"I'll get this. And I'm buying food for both of us later," he says gruffly, shuffling towards the dressing room. Mizuki folds the shirt and puts it back where it was before sauntering off to the shoes section, wondering what size he is. Before long, Shizuo returns to her, the articles of clothing draped haphazardly over his arm.

"They fit," he says, to which Mizuki tilts her head. "And don't run off like that. I don't want to have to look everywhere for you."

"Are you going to change into them once I pay?" she asks innocently.

"No, I'll just put them on tomorrow so that I have something clean to wear," he mutters, still unsure how he feels about spending the night in a hotel room with Mizuki. He doesn't know which would be worse; having only one bed to share or having two of them to sleep in separately.

"Liar," she grumbles, glaring at him for daring to hide information from her. She's partially right. Although it would be more practical to just wear the new clothes tomorrow, the main reason he's keeping his bartending suit on is because he wants to look at least a little bit presentable when he visits Alison -Mizuki's mother's- grave. "Just pick out a pair of shoes and uh, some clean socks and... stuff. Dress shoes don't go well with jeans unless you're trying to be ironic."

"And stuff?"

"Y-Yeah, like boxers or whatever," she mutters, pink staining her cheeks. Suddenly, she feels Shizuo's warm hand on her head, ruffling her hair like he used to many years ago, when things were simpler and unbroken. She looks up to see him smiling down on her like the sun, warm but distant.

"Whatever you say, pipsqueak." He grabs a random box and tosses it at her, which she catches with ease. She opens the box to see what he chose and finds a pair of black and red skate shoes. Maybe she'll teach him how to skate sometime.

"I don't suppose you want to come underwear shopping with me?" he throws casually over his shoulder as he starts to walk away.

Mizuki rolls her eyes and starts heading for the cashier. "Just shut up and meet me at the register."

* * *

It's like the first time he's ever met her, like every preconceived notion he's had of her before this moment was all a figment of his imagination. He casted onto her the image that he wanted to see, ultimately failing to lift the shrouded veil between them. She was a silhouette with bright eyes and a bright smile, but only now are his eyes trained enough for every color she bleeds to grace them. She's not just an effervescent shade of blue, an infinite shade of black, or an achromatic shade of white. She's the whole damn kaleidoscope.

Though she visited the head monk -Takamichi or whatever- in the Kiyomizu-dera temple, though she bought a pack of incense to burn at her family's grave, she didn't clasp her hands together in prayer as she stood before the marble stone. She just stared at it intently, her gaze shifting between the trail of smoke wafting from the burning lavender incense to the names etched into the cold stone.

"Oka-chan came over to Japan from France. Her family and friends were already either dead or had abandoned her, so all she left behind were a couple of corpses and bitter memories," Mizuki says, staring intently at her mother's name written in distinct katakana, standing out from the rest of her deceased family member's names.

"Why did she come here?" inquires Shizuo in a hushed tone as though he's doing his best not to wake up the dead with his usual gruff voice. He has a voice that carries, a voice that travels with the wind, but right now it's stagnant and uncertain.

"For work," she answers quietly. There's something in her tone that Shizuo can't detect.

"What did she do for work?" he asks ignorantly.

"She was a prostitute."

Shizuo stares at her, waiting for the punch line, and his heart sinks and his head spins when he doesn't get one. Her mother was a prostitute? Sure, he's been around a lot of them due to his line of work, though of course he never indulged in the trade of flesh, but it was just shocking to think that Mizuki's mother was involved with that kind of crowd.

"Huh," he mumbles, unsure how to to respond to that detail. Mizuki can understand why so she doesn't get offended by his brief, awkward response. Silence settles over them, so Shizuo naively asks, "So she came to Japan for that?"

Mizuki shrugs her shoulders, rather nonchalant about the whole exchange regarding her mother's dark past. It's called the past for a reason, and her mother switched her life around for the better immediately after becoming pregnant with Mizuki, and that's all that truly matters. You can make your life a living hell all you want, but don't bring an innocent child into it.

"Sort of. She stole a lot of money from her pimp. Wouldn't say how much. That and she caused a bit if 'property damage,' though Oka-chan was quite vague when she told me the story. I wish she had been a bit more clear, but I can always grill Otou-san for details later." Then she remembers. She can't inquire her father of the details of her mother's past, or anything for that matter anymore. It's like there's a hand wrapped around her heart, squeezing it hard enough to make it's presence known but without crushing her to pieces.

She misses her father, wonders if he's been okay since her disappearance. He's never really been able to fend for himself. Mizuki almost has a panic attack just thinking of how helpless he must feel right now, imagining the smoke detector blaring throughout their quaint home when Hiroshi forgets to put on the timer for the plastic bagged stir fry, or him walking out of the house to go to work without his tie because he can't knot it properly.

"Why don't you just go back?" Shizuo asks dubiously, wondering what could be so important that she was willing to leave behind her own family. Now that he thinks about it, where is she even living? Where has she been sleeping at night? And where did she get all the money to fund this trip? The blonde nearly slaps himself for his thoughtlessness.

"I have to do something first," she murmurs, gaze never meeting his though he is currently where her frazzled mind is. 'It's all for you.'

"Stop. You know I hate it when you do that. Stop beating around the bush and just tell me what's up, damn it!" Shizuo roars, directing his rage at her for the first time today. Mizuki used to always get him so worked up, whether it was worrying him, pestering him, or lying about her past and intentions. One of her deepest faults is how dishonest and secretive she can be.

Mizuki turns her own anger on him, her bottled up emotions bursting forward from all the pressure. How dare he? How dare he question her when she's doing this for them, when she's putting herself through hell just to be by his side again?

"Shut up! You don't know anything!"

"Because you won't tell me, fuckface!"

He used his 'special nickname' for her in the midst of their heated conversation. Someone else might have been insulted from being called such an offensive name, but not Mizuki. Anyone else would have been pulverized, though Shizuo's massive strength and virtual indestructibility are not the reasons why she doesn't attack him for his impudence. She continues staring at the wispy smoke as it intermingles with the air.

How can you hurt someone you love? It makes no sense to Mizuki, how someone could lay their hand on their lover and call it tough love.

What Shizuo did to her was an accident on both of their parts. What she did to Shizuo -the pain she caused him as a result of being such an incorrigible failure- was inexcusable. That is why she cares little for her body, why she views this crude, brittle shell of hers as dispensable, why she's willing to go to such lengths to ensure that she will never be the cause of Shizuo's pain again.

"Mizuki." Opposite of a lullaby, Shizuo's voice drags her back to her senses. She goes willingly, because no matter how high she dreams, her imagination could never conjure up Shizuo as lucidly as reality can. Her mind doesn't have the capacity for that.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs solemnly, a sign that she has no intentions of revealing her reasoning behind her odd behavior.

If she won't give in, neither will he.

The weight of all the guilt upon Shizuo's broad shoulders collapses into a black hole, and though he fears being sucked in, he doesn't take hold of the one person that will keep him from being consumed.

"I'm leaving then," he grimly says, fists clenched again as they usually are. His voice is calm and barely above a whisper, and goosebumps raise on Mizuki's skin due to how collected he is. He's leaving her on the anniversary of her mother's death, and it's all just to teach her a lesson in trust. He's pathetic. How could she trust someone who's willing to take such cruel, drastic measures simply because they don't get the answers that they want?

Mizuki's mother's voice rings in her ears as it usually does when she starts wandering off her path. "Trust has to be earned, Okami-chan."

Shizuo wouldn't really leave her, and is a but stunned that Mizuki gave in so easily. He would have changed his mind had she objected even once, but not a single word of resistance leaves her lips. Maybe she wants him gone. In that case, he doesn't see the point in staying if he's not wanted anymore. He doesn't see the point in fighting if he's already lost three years ago.

Left alone on the anniversary of her mother's death. Shizuo pictures her alone in that hotel room. She doesn't cry. She doesn't panic. She just sits there on the bed, staring at the ceiling, and the mirrors are smashed because she doesn't want to look at her mother's reflection staring back at her, and there are shards of glass buried into her arms and hands like she's a rose that has grown her thorns a bit later than others. He knows her so well, knows her like a reader knows their favorite character in a book, but it's still not enough. It's not enough because somehow he still believes that she doesn't love him anymore.

"You'll think I'm crazy," Mizuki calls out to him, though it sounds like she's talking to herself. A clump of ash on the end of the stub of incense breaks off from the rest of the stick, shed like the dead skin of a snake is when it no longer can serve its purpose.

"I know you're crazy," counters Shizuo sarcastically, and is rewarded by a soft chuckle from Mizuki.

A playful gust of wind curls its fingers through their hair, tugs on their shirts like impatient children and whispering melodies like sirens. Perhaps these were the long forgotten voices of the ones resting below Mizuki and Shizuo's feet. Here they are, amongst all this death growing in a field of life and light, arguing about trivial matters when the stigma of eternity is all around them, reduced to piles of ashes buried in the ground.

Her mother is just another victim of eternity. The cancer didn't kill her; it just sped up the process.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything you want to tell me."

That umbrella covers a great deal of things, but she doubts he'd want to listen to her senseless prattling, so she settles for her intentions, being careful to erase Izaya from her depiction of the tale. Shizuo wouldn't take that information too well.

The ceremony, however, is still in procession, so Mizuki puts the story on hold to finish this unorthodox rite. From her back pocket, Mizuki retrieves her pack of cigarettes, and Shizuo thinks she's about to light one up again, which might be considered disrespectful, but it's not like he gives a damn. Dead people aren't affected by secondhand smoke. He looks down at his bartending suit and questions his motives as well, frowning at his attire. There was no point in getting changed again, so he decides that his choice of clothing was purely coincidental.

Rather than put the cigarette to her lips, she kneels down on the grass, her face level with the grave, and discards the burnt out stub of incense in the field of graves. In its place she puts a single cigarette, filter in the incense holder. She lights it with a flick of her lighter, and rises once more to observe her work.

"Like I said, my mom smoked a lot," Mizuki murmurs, breathing in the tobacco smoke drifting towards the sky. The thick scent of it obscures the sweet, faint smell of bluebells.

Mizuki is the reason why Shizuo smokes. Now he wonders if her mother is the reason why she picked up the cancerous habit.

Mizuki is a cancerous habit just like the cigarettes she smokes, a habit that Shizuo has no plans on quitting anytime soon.


End file.
